Meet Me In The Middle
by BleuBengal
Summary: Greg carefully inspected Sherlock for any signs of lying. Sherlock wasn't easy to read, but after being friends for so long, he could tell when Sherlock was spouting his usual shite. This time, he wasn't. "So you're telling me that you actually did it? You had sex with Johnny Watson?" MPREG


"I'm here. What's happened?", Greg said wheezing; clasping the door frame for support. He was out of breath after climbing the vast staircase at Holmes manor and dashing down the even longer hallway to Sherlock's rooms.

Sherlock was lying on his bed with his legs crossed at the feet, both arms folded behind his head, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I messaged you approximately seven hours and eleven minutes ago. Where have you been?", he asked sharply.

"I was asleep. It was the middle of the night and I had practice yesterday.", Greg protested in defense. Coach had kept them later than usual for the big came coming up on Friday. He'd passed out on his bed, still in his muddy uniform, only to be awoken by a series of "urgent" and cryptic messages from Sherlock.

"I could have been dead you know."  
Greg raised an eyebrow. "If you were dead, then how would you have messaged me?"  
Sherlock glared in Greg's direction. "I could have _almost_ been dead Gregory. As in hanging on by a thread. Having one foot in the grave. In the act of dying. Need I go on?"

"Well in that case, I'd hope you'd have sense enough to contact the police or even a hospital perhaps instead of me at **two** in the bloody morning!", Greg snapped running a frustrated hand over his face. He resisted the ever growing urge to shake Sherlock by the shoulders and slap him repeatedly.

"I've just been through a crisis. One would think I could count on my best friend to be there for me in my time of need. Imagine if I'd managed to off myself and you found me here lying in a pool of my own blood. Perhaps then you'd be sorry.", he huffed.

Greg rolled his eyes at that. "Not as sorry as you'd think.", Greg mumbled under his breath. Typical Sherlock, always going to the extreme with everything.

Sherlock's head turned to the right to glare at his oldest, and only, friend. "What was that?"

"Never mind."  
Sherlock turned back towards the ceiling. "I _need_ a new best friend."

Greg shrugged. "You're probably right about that, but there's one thing you should consider first."  
"Which is?", Sherlock drawled in a bored tone.  
" _Nobody likes you._ ", he told him. "Except for me and Molly and even we can barely tolerate you most days."

"Lies. I'm an absolute joy to be around.", Sherlock argued with a faraway tone in his voice.

Greg sighed and pulled the chair from under Sherlock's desk, swinging it around and taking a seat. He settled his chin in the crook of his folded arms.

"I'm sorry alright? Next time you have a date, I'll be sure to stay up all night, no matter how tired I am. Just in case you might need to talk to me.", he apologized with thinly veiled sarcasm.  
"You didn't get me up this early for no reason. Go on then. Tell me about this supposed crisis.", Greg encouraged.

Sherlock sighed heavily. "I have been...deflowered."  
Greg's eyes grew so wide that they might have fallen out of his sockets if not attached by fairly secure ligaments, tissues and the like. "De-what?", he asked in disbelief. "You're joking right?"

"No."

Greg carefully inspected Sherlock for any signs of lying. Sherlock wasn't easy to read, but after being friends for so long, he could tell when Sherlock was spouting his usual shite. This time, he wasn't. "So you're telling me that you actually did it? You had sex with Johnny Watson?"

"I do believe that's what deflowered means.", Sherlock deadpanned in annoyance.  
Greg sat back, stunned. "Who even are you? How the bloody hell did this happen?"

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "As always _Greggie_ , you're asking the wrong question. How it happened is irrelevant. Only that _it did_ is of importance.", he answered; secretly delighting at the scowl on Greg's face at the use of his awful childhood nickname.

John Watson had come to their private academy on scholarship when his sergeant father was transferred to England from Scotland. John was instantly popular, quickly climbing the ranks to take over the position of rugby team captain and there was talk of a class president nomination in the works. He could have had his pick of anyone despite his slightly shorter than normal stature. John politely turned down every person, male or female that asked him out. Everyone quickly realized that the reason for this was because he held a torch for none other than Sherlock Holmes.

No one could understand the fascination. It was a mystery because John was kind and popular. The type of person you just wanted to be around without being obnoxious. And Sherlock...was well, he was Sherlock. You could often find John sitting next to Sherlock in the library corner after morning practice, his hair and face covered in mud while Sherlock's nose was planted inside a book, chattering quietly with one another. Greg and just about everyone else at the school, teachers included, wondered just what it was that they talked about. Sherlock was surprisingly tight lipped about it all. About everything concerning John Watson, really.

Until about a week before when he informed his friends that he was going out on a date. Of course he had chosen to reveal that tidbit of information when Greg was in the middle of eating a chip and caused him to choke, ending with a quick heimlich maneuver, courtesy of Molly.

Sherlock wasn't exactly the dating type. Although he knew Sherlock identified as gay, Greg thought he proved to be more asexual than anything. He couldn't believe Sherlock had agreed to it in the first place and now to have gone so far, it was almost unsettling.

Not knowing what else to say or how to approach the situation at hand, he simply asked, "Are you alright?"

Sherlock pondered the question for a moment. "I'm better than expected.", he settled on. Greg nodded and they fell into an odd, contemplative silence.

"Was it any good?", Greg asked curiously, unable to stop himself.  
"Now that, is the right question.", Sherlock said swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling himself into an upright position and looking at his watch. "If we go now, we can make it down to breakfast before Mycroft inhales all of the sausages." He swiftly moved towards the door. Greg quickly moved to follow him.

"Wait a minute.", Greg said putting a stilling hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "You didn't answer my question. How was it?"

 _Sherlock was pleased to find that John was just as pleasant to be around outside of school as he was in it. He'd just gone along with the flow when they left the cinema and Sherlock dragged him off to the other side of London just to have a meal at this one specific restaurant because they had amazing egg rolls._

 _They spent hours just talking. Well Sherlock did most of the talking as usual and John listened. Chiming in his thoughts in between Sherlock's rambling. Not wanting the night to end early, they ended up back at John's house, his mother gone out to dinner with her friends for the night._

 _John leaned in to kiss Sherlock. Sherlock's body went rigid with shock. He'd never been kissed before. He never even saw it coming and Sherlock was not used to being unprepared. For anything. Even through the shock he could tell that John's lips were pleasantly soft and plump. He let out a rather undignified squeak when John's tongue slid in and ran smoothly over his._

 _When it was over, John was smiling stupidly at him; rubbing a hand shyly across the back of his neck. Something about the way the kiss left a lingering pull of desire deep in his stomach triggered his flight or fight response._

 _"I think I should be going now.", Sherlock said shakily, abruptly standing and grabbing for his coat and scarf._

 _Watching Sherlock frantically dress, John mentally berated himself. He'd obviously gone too far. Sherlock wasn't ready and it was only their first date. Sherlock probably had never even been kissed before and he just, jumped him._

 _"Sherlock, wait. Don't go. I didn't mean to scare you off."_  
 _"I'm not scared.", Sherlock replied indignantly, glaring at John._  
 _"Alright, fine. Not scared then. Just, come sit back down. I won't touch you again, I promise. I just- I really like you and I've been looking forward to this date all week. I don't want to mess this up."_

 _Sherlock studied him carefully. "You like me...Why?", he asked warily._  
 _John shrugged. "I just do. You absolutely brilliant Sherlock. You have to know that. I never met anyone quite like you before."_

 _They stumbled in through the door of what he assumed was John's bedroom. John's hands were all over him and Sherlock's traitorous cock was hard and aching in an instant. John pushed Sherlock up against the wall and kissed him. His hands toyed with the buckle of Sherlock's trousers as he undid them and shoved a hand inside. Sherlock groaned and almost came immediately. It felt so much better having someone else touching him, stroking him. John's movements were clumsy and unpracticed, but they felt like heaven._

 _"J-john", he said breathlessly. Encouraged, John sped up his movements while moving to mouth at Sherlock's neck. Sherlock's whole body jerked forward._  
 _He gasped, eyes going wide, spurts of cum covering his underwear and John's hand. He didn't have time to be embarrassed as John swiftly relieved him of his ruined pants and dragged him over to the bed._

 _Sherlock found himself naked on the bed, John settled back on his knees in front of him. John squirted out some lube he'd gotten from his bedside drawer and rubbed it between his fingers to warm it. He gently coaxed Sherlock's legs open, awkwardly laying down flat on his stomach and pushing a finger past the tight ring of muscle. Sherlock tensed from the intrusion, but John didn't notice._

 _Judging by the sweat on his forehead and the erratic beating of his heart, he was too busy freaking out at the fact that he was actually having sex to pay much attention to anything else but the actual task at hand. It was...endearing. Sherlock willed himself to relax as he was clumsily, yet gently worked open by John's short fingers._

 _The removal of John's hands pulled Sherlock from the almost meditative state he had fallen into. The weight of this moment fell on him and it was almost suffocating. But he was here with John and somehow nothing else mattered. He almost felt..._ normal. _Like a regular teenager on the brink of something terrifying, yet exhilarating that made his heart beat faster._

 _Then John's mouth was on his again, kissing him softly. His body covered Sherlock's in a blanket of warmth. John pulled back to look into Sherlock's eyes._

 _"Are you sure?"_

 _Sherlock nodded as John pushed forward; inhaling sharply as they were slowly melted into one._

... "It was brilliant."

"Sherls, I don't understand. If it was good, then why are you so upset?"  
"Because it wasn't supposed to be."

* * *

The next couple of days found Sherlock going about life as usual. He hadn't talked to John since "the incident" as he'd taken to calling it in his mind. He was not the type to go out of his way to avoid someone, but it seemed like they both were doing a good job of steering clear of one another. John seemed to be giving Sherlock his space and he appreciated it.

Every now and then he would catch John's eyes from across the way and he would give him a blinding smile and a wave before being ushered away by one or several of his many admirers. Sherlock would be lying if he didn't feel a slight skip of his heart whenever it happened. At the moment, he and Greg were stuck listening to Molly and her usual awkward chatter. She'd had a massive crush on him since third year, but was starting to get over it once she realized that nothing would ever come of it.

On this particular day, they were sitting at the lunch table while Sherlock's head was buried in a book and he was decidedly blocking out everything Molly said.

He felt someone walk up next to him and glanced up when a squeak was heard from across the table. Molly's eyes were wide and her cheeks went red as John swung one leg over the bench and took a seat next to Sherlock. Greg too, looked on in surprise.

"Lo'", John greeted. Greg nodded in acknowledgement and Molly giggled. It was amazing how quickly she turned into a simpering little twit whenever there was a boy around. "Can I speak to you in private for a moment?", he asked turning his attention to Sherlock.

Sherlock followed John to an empty corner.

"So I was thinking, if you're willing to hang about for a bit until I finish practice, we can go over my house. There's a Luther marathon coming on. I thought we'd make a night of it."

Greg knew how much crime interested Sherlock. In his spare time, he knew the boy sometimes combed through cold case files on the internet. Once, John had even sat down with Sherlock to look over one before class and Sherlock was surprised by his insight; telling him that he wasn't as stupid as he thought.

"Luther is dull. I'd rather not.", Sherlock replied.  
"Okay, we can do something else then. Anything you want."

Sherlock inspected John for a minute before sighing. "John. While I'm flattered, I think you should know that I don't do relationships. I'm no good at that sort of thing. So whatever it is you're doing here, it won't work out."

"But I thought- We had a good time, right? I thought you liked me."  
"We had sex once, John. It didn't _mean_ anything.", he responded, voice more cutting than he intended it to be, but his heart was saying something entirely different. **You don't want someone like me. You deserve better.**

"It didn't mean anything.", John echoed hollowly. "Is that really how you feel?"

Sherlock didn't answer. Nothing he could say would make this conversation any less unpleasant and he didn't exactly want to have a row in front of his classmates. John had thrown a wrench into his carefully selective and isolated world and he was ready to end it. He'd already been more vulnerable in front of John that he had before in his entire life and he didn't want to take any more chances.

Best to stop things now before it gets too deep. Before John realizes that he's not really worth it...

John nodded in acceptance of the situation, but the hurt was clearly written on his face. "It meant something to me.", he said quietly. "If it didn't for you then...fine. You don't have to worry about me bothering you anymore. Good day Sherlock.".

John brushed past Sherlock before he could respond and Sherlock pretended like he didn't want to run after him. **I'm sorry.**

* * *

This was an unexpected outcome. Improbable. _Completely_ illogical, even.

Sherlock had been feeling poorly for weeks. He knew what the problem was, but he had been too stubborn to admit it. Even to himself. The white stick stared back at him mockingly with a pink plus sign in the small screen window. His eyes had been transfixed on it for the past half hour at least. The irrational part of him kept willing an inanimate object to change it's results, but alas it would not.

There was only one person who could help him.

Sherlock strode up to Mycroft's door. Before he could knock, a camera descended from the ceiling. The lens hummed and focused in on his face. Sherlock squinted into the camera. "Mycroft, it's me."

He tapped his foot impatiently. After a moment, he heard the door click and open a fraction. He pushed it open and slipped inside, closing the door carefully behind him. He found Mycroft sitting cross legged in a wicker swivel chair with an open book in his hands.

"Little brother.", he greeted without looking up as he turned the page. "What a pleasant surprise."  
"I need to talk to you."  
"Then talk. I'm all ears."

To the left of him, Sherlock noticed yet another camera rotating to face him. No doubt ready to record their conversation. "Could you turn the bloody cameras off first?", he gritted through his teeth.

"If you have an issue with my surveillance then I believe you know the way out. Here's a clue. I know how much you like those. It's the door right behind you."

Sherlock steeled himself and took a deep breath. "This is serious Mycroft. I need a favor."  
"What kind of favor?", Mycroft drawled in a bored tone flipping over to the next page.  
"I need a ride to 330 Pine. Joffrey is ill and mummy gave him the morning off."

Mycroft's head snapped up and Sherlock could see the calculating look in his eyes. "If memory serves me correct, there's nothing of interest on that particular street save for a waxing salon and a doctor's office." Mycroft closed his book and set it to the side.

"Am I to assume you're looking to...freshen up a bit? Perhaps for your new beau? John Watson, isn't it?", he asked suggestively.

Sherlock's gaze turned to pure steel. "How did you know about that?", Sherlock snapped. He'd gone through extreme measures to make sure no one in his family knew anything about John. Mycroft had already graduated. There was no reason he should still have spies at the academy. Especially when he should be busy with uni.

"I know everything.", Mycroft retorted as if it should have been obvious.

Sherlock huffed in annoyance. "Of course you do. How silly of me."

"How silly indeed.", Mycroft agreed. "If you're not going for a Brazilian then we must be going to the clinic. Question is...what could possibly be wrong with you?"

"Mycroft.", Sherlock warned. "Not now."

Mycroft tsked. "Come now. You love this game. Let's play deduction.", he said with an evil smirk. Sherlock knew it wouldn't be long now before Mycroft figured it out. There was a chance that he could be wrong and assume Sherlock had simply contracted some STD, but it was unlikely. Sherlock could practically see the wheels in Mycroft's head turning as he inspected him.

"Hmmm, interesting. You don't look particularly ill although your skin is a bit more pasty than usual. Judging by the bags under your eyes, you haven't been sleeping well. Waking in the early hours of the morning I'd wager and falling asleep late at night. You've also been eating even less than usual. Only dinner and sometimes a midday snack. Probably because you've experienced frequent nausea judging by the way your hands have begun lingering at your midsection every now and then. Despite that, you've managed to gain nearly a stone in less than three months when this whole ordeal started. You're in desperate need of new trousers by the way. Coincidentally, all of this began around the time you went on a midnight rendezvous with lover boy.", he trailed off tapping a finger to his chin.

"No.", Mycroft said suddenly; uncertainty coloring his voice. "You wouldn't be _that_ stupid.", he said more to himself than anything. "Would you?"

Sherlock's jaw tightened.  
Mycroft crowed with unmasked glee. "You would.", he accused, standing up. "You're pregnant!", he crowed almost giddily.

Sherlock clapped a hand over Mycroft's mouth. "Shhhh!, you idiot. We don't need the entire manor to hear."

Mycroft shoved him away and scowled, dusting himself off. "Oh please. No one can hear us here. These walls are completely soundproof."  
"How did you manage...you know what, never mind. I don't want to know. Are you going to take me or not?"  
"That depends.", Mycroft drawled.  
"Depends on what?"  
"On what you're going to give me to make it worth my time brother dear."

"What do you want?"  
Mycroft let out a bored sigh. "Money is always an acceptable bribe. I do rather like nice things."  
Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You don't need any money Mycroft."  
Mycroft hummed. Sherlock had a point. "Fine, I'll take you.", the oldest Holmes agreed. Sherlock let a sigh of relief.

"On one condition.", he added and Sherlock let his head drop. Mycroft's conditions never went in his favor.  
"What condition?  
"That you let me be there when you tell father. I wouldn't miss this one for the world."

* * *

Sherlock made Mycroft stay in the waiting lobby unable to stand looking at his smug face any longer, but he could admit that it made him feel better knowing he wasn't exactly alone. The doctor came in and closed the door behind her. She greeted him and began washing her hands for the examination. He couldn't help but quickly deduce her using clues from her person as well as the room.

Thirty eight, no thirty nine years old. Married, almost happily, two children, one dog. English, but attended school in Scotland for some odd reason. Perhaps to be adventurous, more likely to escape an alcoholic father and unhappy home life. Enjoys watching television dramas, speaks mild French. Loyal, supportive, intelligent, impulsive.

Yes, she would do he supposed.

He was brought from his musings by the sound of the doctor snapping on a pair of rubber gloves. "I hear you think you might be pregnant. Is that correct?"  
"Yes."  
"Alright then. Lie back and lift your shirt please. When was the last time you had sexual intercourse?"  
"On January 2nd, from approximately 10:29 p.m. to 10:40 p.m."

The doctor looked at him in amusement and squirted some surprisingly cold gel on his abdomen which caused him to jolt upwards a bit. "Well that's rather specific. It must have been very romantic if you remember so many details."

"Romance is purely biological. It's merely the product of a combination of neurotransmitters coupled with sexual instincts used incite feelings in a potential spouse for mating purposes. The fail safe of nature, if you will, to ensure that the population continues. Romance has nothing to do with it. I simply make it a habit to be extremely thorough in all aspects of life. It's easier that way."

She raised an amused eyebrow and ran the wand over the exposed area. It went on for so long that he almost had hope that she wouldn't find anything and that his suspicions and the tests were wrong. It wasn't uncommon for those sorts of things to be faulty.

The doctor clicked a few buttons on the keyboard and turned a knob before the sound of a whooshing heartbeat filled the entire room. He sucked in a breath.

"There it is. That's your baby's heartbeat. I'd say you're about eleven weeks.", she said with a small smile.

Sherlock gulped audibly; unable to determine exactly what the emotion was that he was feeling. "Can I- can I see it?", he asked hesitantly, wincing at how small his voice sounded. He was never one to be at a loss for words or do something as primitive as stutter. "I need to see it.", he said a second time with more assertion.

"Of course." She turned the screen so that it was facing him. It was so small, barely noticeable in it's place resting in the lower portion of the womb. 50% of his genetic material and 50% of John's wrapped in a minuscule package.

Logic tells him that the chances of having a successful career after becoming a teen parent are dismal at best. Logic tells him that he's too young, too emotionally stunted, too... Sherlock, to parent a child. And yet, he still wants it more than anything he's ever wanted before.

Sentiment. Mycroft always warned him that it would be his downfall.

When he looks over at the screen, he feels a rush of unwarranted affection sweep over him. It's in that moment that he knows at that moment that he would do anything necessary to keep the little being growing inside of him safe and happy.

* * *

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant.", he announced.  
All eyes at the dinner table turned toward him. Even Sherrinford stopped tucking into his pasta to stare at him with wide eyes.

Violet giggled into her glass of wine, already tipsy. "Don't be silly darling of course you're not pregnant.", she said taking a playful swat at Sherlock.  
"I'm perfectly serious mother." He fished the sonogram from his pocket and gingerly placed it on the dining table. "I'm eleven weeks gone."

"But-", the words died in her throat as she stared at Sherlock, then at the sonogram and finally at her husband who was fuming round the ears. He reached over and grabbed the picture from the table, his eyes scanning it quickly.  
"Sherlock! What is this?", Sigur sputtered out.  
"It's a sonogram. Obviously.", he deadpanned.

"Who is the father?", the older man demanded. "What is his name?"

Sherlock could barely keep himself from rolling his eyes. "Does it matter?"  
"Of course it matters. Tell me who it is right this instant. Sherlock, if you've been hurt or someone forced themselves on-"  
"What? You think I was forced into this?", Sherlock asked taken aback.

"What else would explain this transgression? You've never been _stupid_ Sherlock. You're too bloody smart for your own good on a normal day and definitely and too smart to get put up the duff before you make it to university. You're barely 17 years old!"

In what could only be described as a hormonal rage, Sherlock stood up and shouted back at his father. "It's not a bloody transgression!", he snapped. "It's a child. _Your_ grandchild, and I'm not telling you a sodding thing. This is my issue and I'll handle it. The other father has nothing to do with this." They stood glaring at each other in a stand off over the dinner table. Mycroft attempted to get Sherlock back into his seat, but was rudely shrugged off.

"Violet! Speak some sense into your son.", Sigur hissed tearing his eyes away from Sherlock.

She tutted and turned her attention toward her middle child. "Daddy's right dearest. You must tell us who the other father is.', she cooed. "He's a part of the family now. Is it Gregory? I'll call his mother right away and we can all have tea and discuss this."  
Sherlock scowled. "For the _billionth_ time mother, Greg and I are not an item."

Violet huffed. "Well, one can only assume. I mean you two do spend an awful lot of time in your room together...with the door closed.", she said pointedly.

"It's not Greg.", Sherlock said firmly. "And Jo- _the father_ is not, nor will he ever be a part of this family. We're not together anymore.", Sherlock said with a blank expression before leaving the room despite his parents' protests.

Violet sighed and rubbed at her temples. "My poor Lockie. This boy must have broken his heart. Sigur, you must do something."

"Mike. Do you have any information?", the eldest Holmes asked his son.  
Mycroft dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "Of course. When I found out from my sources that my dear little brother had a boyfriend, I had him background checked."

Sigur nodded at his son in approval. He'd taught him well. "His name is John Watson, age 17.", Mycroft began. "Captain of the rugby team, 3.2 grade point average. Allergic to kiwis. His father is an army sergeant. Transferred here about six months ago.", he recited from memory. "There's more in the file I have upstairs if you want to look at it."

"Yes, yes. Bring it to my office.", Sigur said absentmindedly; dismissing Mycroft. His son was pregnant and having a child at sixteen with a virtual stranger who had apparently run out on him and the baby. No, that wouldn't do. He was going to pay this John a visit and force him to make things right with his son whether he wanted to or not.

He smiled to himself. Oh yes, this was exciting. It'd been a long while since he kidnapped someone that wasn't an international terrorist or drug smuggler and they weren't any fun. They hardly ever cried. This time tomorrow night he would have his tears and Sherlock would have his little boyfriend back for as long as he wanted him or there would be blood _and_ tears.

* * *

 _John walked from the counselor's office after discussing a minor change in his schedule due to his transfer documents finally coming in, and spotted Sherlock sitting against the wall with his legs crossed at the ankles, his arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. He smiled to himself and approached Sherlock's form. Sherlock's eyes flashed open at him for just a second before snapping close again. He didn't tell him to go away this time, so John counted that as a win._

 _Ever since John transferred to the new school, he'd been inexplicably drawn to Sherlock. The younger boy fascinated him. He quickly found that Sherlock was something of a black sheep at the school and most people shunned him. Probably because he made them feel so inadequate. But not John._

 _John was always a stubborn one, craving challenge and excitement. Sherlock gave him that and more._

 _He un-shouldered his bag and made himself comfortable in the spot next to Sherlock. The counselor had given him a pass, so he figured he wouldn't get into too much trouble if he didn't return to class right away._

 _"Is this your free period then?", John wondered aloud._  
 _"No."_

 _John raised an eyebrow at that and as if Sherlock could read his face without seeing it, he sighed. "I needed a break.", he explained. "Mr. Mauldin's history class is dreadfully boring and grossly inaccurate. I couldn't listen to his drivel any longer."_

 _"Aren't you scared to get in trouble? What if someone sees you just lounging about?"_  
 _"I have something on just about every adult figure in this school and they know it. I won't be bothered."_

 _"Yeah, like what?"_  
 _John's interest made Sherlock somewhat giddy. Normally, people didn't bother with him at all, not that he wanted them to. Most of them were pitifully ignorant. Molly and Greg non withstanding._

 _"Mr. Anderson, the head master."_  
 _"What about him?"_  
 _"He's cheating on his wife with someone on the staff. My suspicion is Professor Donovan, the history teacher, but I haven't bothered to confirm it."_

 _John gaped. He was more shocked by the fact that Anderson had a wife in the first place. Honestly, the man creeped him out. And that toupee was horrendous. Like someone skinned a starving cat and slapped in on top of his head._

 _John was startled from his thoughts by a deep, booming laugh coming from Sherlock and realized that he must have said that last bit out loud._

 _John laughed along with him, enchanted by the way Sherlock's eyes lit up and he was granted with a dazzling smile. In that moment, he knew he was a goner._

John crossed the football field towards the parking lot, shifting his equipment over his shoulder and tossing the ball lightly into the air. At practice he was little better than a tyrant. He ran the other lads to exhaustion. Playing hard was the only way he could distract himself from the disaster that was his love life.

He still couldn't get Sherlock to speak a word to him and he just plain missed the other boy. Before everything had gone to shite, Sherlock was his best friend here.

Distracted by his thoughts, he didn't notice the shadowy figure grabbing him from behind, clapping a hand over his mouth and dragging him into an all black limousine.

* * *

John looked around nervously at his surroundings. He had been taken to an all white empty room with only a chair where he waited until a man walked in, shutting the door behind him.

"You do realize that this is kidnapping? My father-"

"Is of little concern to me.", the man cut in smoothly leaving John wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into. He supposed he should be scared. Anyone in their right mind would be, but something told him he wasn't in any real danger. Also, his father had always taught him to never show any sign of weakness int he face of the enemy.

"I don't understand. What could you possibly want with me? I've never even met you before. I have no idea who you are."  
"No, I don't suppose you would. I however, know you _very_ well." He flipped out a brown folder and began reading. "John H. Watson. Born August 2nd, 1996. Fire sign. Son to Beatrice Watson née Arden and Henry Watson. Brother to Harriet Watson aged 22."

"Alright, so you pulled some old public records. That hardly proves -"

"Your parents met at the park in 1985.", he continued. "It was windy that day. Your mother's umbrella blew away from her and your father caught it. I believe it was yellow with blue polka dots. They've been inseparable since. Your sister lives in a small apartment on Kensington street. Small, not from a lack of money, but because she needs to support her drinking and lingerie habit. She drinks heavily and attends university."

"You on the other hand are smarter than you look. Top of your class and captain of the school rugby team. You aspire to become a doctor one day. Perhaps in a military capacity like your father. Your favorite color is green, but it doesn't compliment your skin tone so you prefer blue. You sleep in your underwear and you have a strange obsession with cheese. You don't have many friends although you are extremely popular and you recently lost your virginity three months ago to one Sherlock Holmes. Need I go on?"

"How?-" John was stunned and he hated to admit that he was slightly impressed. " _Who_ are you?"

Sigur chuckled at the gobsmacked look on John's face and held out his hand, "The name's Sigur. Sigur Holmes."  
John swallowed thickly. "You...you're Sherlock's father?" When he nodded, John's heart dropped to his feet. "Oh no."

Sigur raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Oh yes.", he drawled.  
He leaned forward until he was directly in John's face, locking him in with both hands gripping the sides of the chair John was sitting on. "You and I need to have a little chat. About my son..."

* * *

John slammed his locker shut only to see Sherlock standing next to him. Just the sight of him made John's jaw clench. Sherlock had lied to him and he didn't know what to think anymore. About their relationship, about their possible impending parenthood, about anything. However, he did know that he wasn't ready to deal with any of it at that particular moment so chose to ignore him, throwing his satchel over his shoulder and storming off to class.

He was actually surprised to find Sherlock's hand touching his shoulder. He sucked in a deep breath and shrugged him off. He felt bad when he looked up and saw the very brief look of despair on Sherlock's face. It came and went so quickly that he almost wasn't sure he'd even seen it. Now, Sherlock's face was carefully schooled into it's usual mask of blankness.

"Not now Sherlock. I have class."  
"We need to talk."  
John whirled around angrily and the unexpected movement had Sherlock taking a step back.

"Fine. Let's talk, shall we? Let's start with the fact that I don't appreciate being kidnapped by your father. Apparently, he's under the impression that I got you pregnant and then ran off. Last I checked, _you're_ the one that broke up with _me_. Is it true then? You're pregnant?"

Sherlock lowered his eyes, but didn't say anything. It was all the confirmation John needed.  
"Oh gods. This can't be happening.", John said as the reality of the situation hit him.  
"I apologize for my father. I had no idea he was going to do that."  
"I can't believe this. How _could you_ Sherlock? Do you even care? Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself? You go around telling the entire world that I'm to be a father before you even told me. How is that fair?"

Sherlock scoffed at that. "I told my family. That hardly constitutes the entire world. Don't be so dramatic."  
"Are you telling me that Greg doesn't know? And Molly?", John shot back.  
"They're my best friends-"  
"And I was your boyfriend!", John shouted, invading Sherlock's space enough to make the taller boy take a step back. "I don't understand you. Why do you do this? Why won't you talk to me?

Sherlock barely heard a word of it. He was still stuck on the fact that John had thought of them as "boyfriends".

"When you say _boyfriend_..."  
"I mean I'm the father, aren't I? Unless...your father has it all wrong." The words were hard to get out, but John felt like they needed to be said. He didn't know what to believe anymore.  
"Of course you're the father John. What do you take me for? Don't you trust me?", he said extremely offended by the mere suggestion.  
"Trust you?", John scoffed. "You honestly expect me to trust you? After you hid something like this from me?"

These were things he wanted to say. _Needed_ to say even. But the words caught in his throat like always. Maybe he _was_ emotionally stunted. Instead of throwing himself into John's arms and apologizing like he wanted to, he just stood there. "What were you planning to do? Never tell me? Slink off somewhere like a coward and have a child that I'll never get to know and love?"

Sherlock looked down at his feet and silence filled the air. John shook his head sadly and let out a breath. He couldn't even find it in himself to yell anymore. "That's what I thought. I'm done.", he said resolutely. "I'm done with this whole thing Sherlock. I'll be there for the baby, but as for us...well, there is no us. Whatever it was that we had is over. I could never be with someone as cold as you."

Watching John walk away this time, something in Sherlock finally snapped. Sherlock had never been one who cared much for others' opinions, thinking them to be short sighted and dimwitted, but hearing those words come from John did something to him. They hurt.

He lifted a shaking hand to his face and was shocked to feel the wetness on his cheek. He was crying. Sherlock Holmes was actually crying. **Don't go.**

* * *

John collapsed on the bench, angrily pulling off his shoes and socks. He was covered form head to toe in dirt and grime from footie practice. As captain, he pushed and ran his team into the ground as an outlet for his frustration with Sherlock. Sherlock. He scowled just thinking about the younger boy's name. Some of the lads on the team were watching him warily, but maintained their distance, not wanting to upset him anymore than he already was.

Admittedly, he felt a little bad about working them so hard. Some of them looked like death warmed over as they trudged slowly into the showers to soothe their aching muscles. When he was finally undressed, he wrapped a towel round his waist and shoved his dirty uniform into his duffel bag. He turned around to find Greg staring at him from the bench.

He slammed the locker shut. "What is it Greg?"  
"What have you done?"  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Sherlock, what did you say to him?", Greg demanded angrily.

John's jaw tightened and he slammed the locker door. "I haven't done anything to him."  
Greg gripped John's arm. "Really? Then why did Molly just find him curled up in a ball crying in the science laboratory?"

"If you don't let me go, I won't be responsible for my actions.", John said in a low voice.  
Greg took a small step back knowing John could easily kick his arse despite his small stature and the fact that he was mostly naked, but didn't back down.

"Sherlock is my best friend. He's not...he's not like the rest of us. I know he hurt you and he can be challenging at best, but he has a good heart and somewhere deep down inside, he really cares about you and what you think of him. I've known him since I was four and I've never seen him cry until today. I don't care if you're the footie captain or a soldier's son. I won't let you break him." The threat behind his words was thinly concealed. "If you ever cared for him at all, you'll get your head out of your arse and go make this right. He's worth fighting for. Even if he doesn't always act like it. They both are."

* * *

John stared blankly at the ceiling, repeatedly tossing his football in the air and catching it. He was still reeling from the confrontation with Sherlock and even Greg. He just couldn't process everything he'd been told.

Every emotion he could recall feeling in his entire life was welling up inside him all at once and it was overwhelming. It was also bloody unfair. _Of course_ he would end up falling for a sociopathic boy with dimples, eyes that changed from green to blue on any given day, and an unhealthy obsession with decaying body parts who was now pregnant with his child after only one night together.

When his mum had inquired with concern about his melancholy behavior, he lost it. He shouted at her and blurted out everything before bolting up the stairs to his room and locking the door. The way her jaw had dropped when he said he'd gotten someone pregnant was priceless.

The fact that she hadn't come up to either drag him out by his ear or try to talk to him should have been the first warning sign. His mother was not an idle woman and she usually meant business. His phone had been lighting up on and off for the past hour, but he hadn't bothered picking it up, not wanting to talk to anyone.

So when his older sister Harry burst into his bedroom door without warning; kicking it closed behind her with her bright red pumps and a frown on her face, he knew he was in trouble.

"Johnny boy, you've got some serious explaining to do.", she growled.  
"Get out of my room! I don't have to explain anything to you.", he growled back; sitting up. "You don't even live here anymore."

"Oh, I beg to differ. You have this adorable habit of not answering your mobile so now we have to do things the hard way.", she said before launching herself at him.

John didn't have time to dodge the attack and even though Harry was clad in a mini dress and heels, she still overpowered him. She was ridiculously strong for such a tiny girl. In the end, Harry was seated casually on John's kidney with her arm wrapped tightly around his neck. After he was sufficiently embarrassed; Harry let him go; inspecting her nails as he choked and sputtered in an attempt to regain his breath and all the feeling in his left side.

"It's your own fault really. Mum called me when I was in the middle of a date; saying I needed to come over and talk some sense into you since you've been moping around the house for weeks and now you've gone and knocked up some bird."

"I didn't knock up some "bird". I'm gay, you twit.", he grunted; struggling under her weight.

Harry stared at her brother in shock, trying to figure out if he was messing with her, but realized he wasn't. They both sat there in contemplative thought for a while.

It was Harry who finally broke the silence. "Huh. I guess we have more in common than we thought.", she said giving him a small smile and her hand. John took it and Harry squeezed it in support. Their relationship had always been rocky at best. They'd never quite been able to find a common ground, but all of a sudden, they had something in common.

"Yeah, I guess we do.", John agreed.  
"Do you love him?", she asked after a beat.  
"It won't work out between us. Sherlock is...we just can't get along. We don't want the same things."  
"That's not what I asked. I asked if you _love_ him."

He was still angry, Rightfully so. And no matter what he's said earlier, the truth was that he did. He still loved Sherlock. Probably always would.

"Yes."  
"And you love the baby. You want it, yes?"  
John let out a breath. "I do. More than anything."

"So what are you going to do about it brat?"  
"I honestly haven't a clue."

* * *

Apparently Harry wasn't the last person on his mother's list because before the weekend was over, John found himself sitting in front of his mother and his father who had taken an emergency leave to come home and deal with what was happening.

"What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how much this will change your life?!", his father had asked him. Henry Watson was a hard man, but he was a good father. John hated disappointing him.

Both of his parents were surprisingly supportive after ripping into him for having unprotected sex. One of the main concerns was what Sherlock planned to do with the baby. Was he going to have it, give it up for adoption, or abort? John was embarrassed to admit that he didn't know. He assumed Sherlock was going to keep it, but they hadn't discussed it.

The Watsons decided it was best that they all go over to Holmes manor to talk things over with Sherlock and his parents. John tried to protest of course, but was overruled.

Henry whistled appreciatively as they pulled up to Sherlock's house. His mother fussed with her hair and clothes, suddenly feeling under dressed. They had to wait an extra ten minutes for her to apply some make-up in the car mirror.

"Johnny.", she scolded. "You didn't tell us your young man and his family were so well-off."  
John ignored her and walked to the door, following his parents. When the door opened, he wasn't surprised to see Mr. Holmes standing there imposingly.

"John.", he greeted dryly. "I assume these are your parents. Lovely to meet you. I'm Sigur Holmes.", he continued, shaking the Watson's hands. They were invited in and even John's eyes grew wide at how fancy and posh everything was. Now he was the one fidgeting and feeling self conscious about his scuffed converse and the fact that he hadn't had a hair cut in months.

"Violet!", Sigur called out. A woman who he figured was Sherlock's mother came bustling out, wine glass in hand and followed by a small child. Sherrinford, his mind supplied him. Sherlock had told him that he had two brothers. They both had the same eyes and it was obvious that Sherlock's curls came from his mother.

"Who's this?", she asked brightly. "This is John Watson. Sherlock's...little friend. And his parents. Henry and Beatrice Watson.", Sigur filled in.

Realization dawned on the woman's face. "Of course. I'm Violet, Sherlock's mother. Sherri love, be a dear and tell Sherlock to come downstairs right away.", she told the smaller boy. He took off sprinting.

Before John knew it, he was being enveloped in a warm hug by Sherlock's mum. "Look at you. So handsome. I can see why my Lockie likes you.", she said, palming his cheek fondly and John flushed bright red. Sigur only rolled his eyes at his wife's antics.

"Sigur and I are so glad to finally meet you. Sherlock wouldn't tell us a thing. He's such a sensitive boy.", she said wistfully. "Likes to keep everything to himself, I'm afraid."  
John almost snorted at that. The last word he would use to describe Sherlock was _sensitive_.

"Mr. Holmes and I already met, but I'm glad to meet you too Mrs. Holmes."  
Violet waved him off. "Oh, you darling thing. Please. Call me Violet. When exactly did you two meet?", she inquired; confused.

"When father kidnapped him." Sherlock's voice came cutting through the air as he stood barefoot at the bottom of the staircase. John hadn't ever seen him looking quite so casual before in an actual t-shirt and sweatpants since they wore uniforms at the academy.

"Siggy, you didn't!"

"He's fine Violet. I didn't even gag him. Just a harmless bit of fun, that's all.", he protested.  
"You kidnapped my son?", Henry asked, voice rising with anger.

His parents looked to him as if to ask, _'What have you gotten yourself into?'_ and he just shrugged.  
"A harmless bit of fun? He's a child! What if he had called the authorities?", Violet squawked in outrage.  
"Darling, I _am_ the authorities."

Leaving the adults to argue it out, John followed Sherlock's discreet gesture to come upstairs with him. Sherlock led him down a seemingly endless hall until they came to the last door on the left.

John looked around. Sherlock's room was a lot like him. Erratic and slightly messy, piled with books, papers, and odd trinkets. Surprisingly however, the bed was perfectly made and clean as well as the bench window. John decided to take remain standing while Sherlock sat on the bed, twisting a model skull in his hands.

The silence between them lasted longer than John had hoped. He found himself staring intently at Sherlock's stomach. Nothing was visible yet, but John couldn't help but get lost in his thoughts at the possibility of Sherlock growing large with his child, terrorizing everyone in his path and generally making everyone miserable. More-so than usual. All the while looking absolutely radiant. His thoughts then turned to the baby and what it would look like.

Would it have Sherlock's curls, or his messy blonde locks? Would it be tall and graceful like the Holmes' or on the shorter, stockier side like most of the Watsons?

"Have you had a scan yet?", he inquired. Asking about the baby seemed to brighten Sherlock up more than he would have expected.

"Yes, but only for confirmation. Home tests are notoriously unreliable for carriers. It's still too early to see anything just yet. It wasn't very exciting I'm afraid. Although I did hear the heartbeat."

"Oh.", John said, looking thoroughly put out and disappointed at missing the first appointment. Even if the baby was just a bean shape on the screen, he wanted to be there to see it. Sherlock picked up on his sudden change in mood.

"I have another appointment next month. Actually, every month until I'm eight months gone. Then, the appointments will be bi-weekly until the baby is born...Would you like to join me?"

That answered John's lingering question. Sherlock was keeping the baby. He felt so relieved that he thought his heart might burst out of his chest.

John brightened. "Really? Of course. I'd love to go. I'm sorry that you had to go to the first one alone."  
"I wasn't alone. I had Mycroft."

His words did little to comfort John. He should have been the one there with Sherlock to hold his hand while they found out the biggest news of their young lives. Instead, he'd been cradling a broken heart and painfully ignorant to what was happening. "I would have gone with you, you know."

"I know."

More silence.

John sighed. This wasn't getting them anywhere. "I can't do this by myself Sherlock. You have to want it too. I need you to meet me somewhere in the middle."  
"I told you before John. I'm no good at this sort of thing and that's why I pushed you away. I push everyone away. It wasn't my intention to hurt you and...I'm so sorry that I did." **Will you forgive me?**

John thought for a moment that he was hallucinating. Did Sherlock just _apologize_? Seeing that they were finally ready to have a long overdue conversation, he took a seat on the bed. "I know. And I'm willing to work on it if you are."

"It won't be overnight.", Sherlock said after some consideration. I can't promise you that I won't be insensitive to your feeling sometimes. That I won't ignore you when something interesting comes along, or that I'll always be able to share with you exactly what I'm feeling. I can't promise that I'll be the type of person you want me to be."

John didn't know how he could relay to Sherlock that he already knows. That Sherlock is spoiled and selfish, but also absolutely brilliant and amazing. And John couldn't love him more if he tried.

"I'm not expecting you to be anyone but yourself Sherlock. And the rest of it...we'll figure it out along the way. But I want this and I'm here to be whatever you need. I'm all in."

Even as he said it, they both knew things wouldn't be so simple. There was a lot of struggle and possible heartache ahead of them. But the possibility of a family, of a life together, of love. It was enough to make John want to take the plunge into the all consuming madness that was Sherlock Holmes.

"What do you say then? Are we in this together?"  
"Even if I were to say yes, the probability of making this work is extremely-"  
"Sherlock!", John interrupted. "Yes or no?"  
"Fine, yes. Together." Sherlock agreed. He turned suddenly, laying his head against John's shoulder. "I'm tired." It was a small gesture of affection, but John would take it. It meant Sherlock trusted him enough to let his guard down even for a moment.

The younger boy did look exhausted, like he hadn't been sleeping well. "I wonder they're talking about down there?", he wondered aloud a few moments later; surprised that so much time had passed and no one came looking for them.

"Probably planning our wedding. ", Sherlock mumbled sleepily. "No Holmes has ever been born out of wedlock. My grandmother would roll over in her grave."

John figured it wouldn't be a good idea to mention that his parents weren't married until nearly a year after Harry was born and were probably arguing the point with Sherlock's parents at that very moment. "I always wanted a Spring wedding.", John mused.  
"Spring is dull.", Sherlock replied.  
"We'll discuss it later.", John said, smiling fondly and running his fingers soothingly through Sherlock's curls.

After all, they had time.

Fin


End file.
